Buying Yogurt
by Darin's-Sis
Summary: Alex is in the mood for yogurt. Bobby is in the mood for something else.


Do I want peach or strawberry?

"Eames."

Standing in the refrigerator section of my local grocery store, I say, "Hmmm?" to him, my lover, Bobby. I tilt my head his direction to show I heard him.

Oh! They have boysenberry. I love boysenberry. "I want it."

Without taking my eyes off my yogurt options, I give a little turn of my head. "Want what?"

"Give it to me." And it is my lucky day - they are on sale, 10 for $10. "Right now."

Geez! "Give you what? A particular flavor? If you see what you want just grab a few and put them in the cart."

If the expiration goes out two weeks, I'll get 10 because the boysenberry is hard to find. I reach up for a container to check.

I feel Bobby directly behind me now - not touching me but filling my space. I assume he is going to reach for some yogurt too. Instead, he whispers in my ear, "The gift I gave you last night…the white lace bra…I want you to give it back to me right now. "

"Sure…wait…WHAT?"

"Right here…right now," he whispers, his warm breathe only an inch from my ear. "Take off my bra. Put it into your purse."

I am suddenly light headed and confused like I've gotten up too fast from a nap. The cold air from the cooler blasts my arm which is frozen mid-reach. The store lights are blinding and a wheel squeals as someone pushes a cart past us. I notice all this in the space between two heartbeats.

Between my next two heartbeats everything disappears. There is no cold air, there's no squeaky wheel; even my outstretched arm is gone. There is nothing but my lover standing behind me, telling me to do something impossible… improbable…possibly illegal and surely immoral. And yet absolutely exciting.

To other shoppers, we must look like an ordinary couple having a casual conversation about yogurt. Only a moment ago, that's what I thought we were- who I thought we were.

He reaches up and pulls my arm down so that my hand rests beside its mate on the shopping cart. I inhale quickly and my eyes refocus.

"I will be just across the aisle…watching you," he says. Then adds, "You know you want to do this."

He moves away and the movement breaks open the dam and I am flooded with thoughts. What is happening? Did he really say that? Why would he want me to do this? He must be joking. He is joking, isn't he?

I turn my head and locate him with my eyes. He is maybe 20 feet away, his shoulder casually leaning against a rack. His body is relaxed and waiting, looking to the world like one of a hundred other men waiting for their girlfriend to make up her mind about some dairy products. God he is gorgeous. Maybe he's not gorgeous in a magazine-ad sort of way but the way his jeans fit him…the way he looks in his black t-shirt...my heart beats differently when I look at him.

And his eyes…they are what won me over. They are dark and deep and if you look closely you will catch glimpses of the power he keeps hidden and in check. When we are together, he sees me, all of me and that is sexier than anything he does in bed.

And right now those eyes are on me. I swear I can feel them clear inside of me. He sees things in me that I am too afraid to look at, things I pretend not to see. Damn if he isn't right...I want to do this but how did he know?

A nervous giggle escapes my lips. Okay…so let's say I do this. How would it work? I could turn sideways and put my hand on my purse… With my arm stretch out in front, no one could really see anything.

I turn to see who is in the aisle. Where did all these people come from? Did the entire friggin' city decide to go shopping today? How will I feel if someone notices what I am doing? And my God, what if someone says something? Uh…ma'am…it appears your bra is coming off? I would be totally humiliated and the thought turns me on.

He brings my attention back to him by clearing of his throat. Something rigid in me surrenders. Yes…I want to do this. Yes…maybe I can do this. Fucking hell…I'm going to do this. I am suddenly so hot I am sweating and yet so cold I have goose bumps. My mouth is as dry as my pussy is wet.

Without taking my eyes from his, I reach behind me for the hem of my blouse. Finding it, I slide my hand under it and up to the hooks of my bra. After 35 years and hundreds of styles, my finger can unhook a bra without conscious direction or thought.

The bra unhooked, my hands slide back down. Now what? I reach under my left sleeve for the loose strip of white lace that is the strap. Time stops along with my breathing as I slide it down quickly, over my elbow and then back up my arm. It ducks back under my shirt like it is playing a game of hide-and-seek.

I reach up under my right sleeve for the other strap. "Slower" I hear him say.

At first I was only looking at him because I was afraid to see someone else watching. But as I pull the other lace strap down my arm, slowly this time, I realize I don't give a fuck if anyone else is watching. This is for him and for me…no one else.

This time I am breathing and I notice my breath. I also notice the feel of the silk strap against the top of my arm. It feels nice, smooth even against the hairs on my arm.

His eyes are watching me, taking in every movement. And my eyes are watching him, taking in his every move. His body isn't as relaxed as it was. He's not leaning against the rack anymore.

I drag the strap over my fingers, letting my nails catch on the raised flowers on the lace as if they won't let it go. Then I drag it along the underside of my arm as if I have all day to get it back up to the sleeve.

When the strap slips back inside my shirt, I feel the bra dislodge from my chest. Only the slight upturn of my breasts keeps it from falling to the concrete floor. I reach under my blouse for it. He can't take his eyes from my breasts so I take a long, deep breath, just like they taught me in yoga. My chest rises and falls in an exaggerated manner and a smile comes to my lips and I hear a little groan from his position near the rack.

I pull my "gift" out from under the front of my shirt. Slowly, as if I have time to kill, I fold it neatly, fitting one cup into the other, winding the little straps together, picking imaginary lint from the little bows where they attach to the cups. Then I tuck it into my purse. With the task complete, I look at him again. He has a grin on his face and a bulge in his pants.

I reach to my side for one of the larger containers of boysenberry yogurt. I bring it to my chest and rest it again my right nipple. I examine the top of the yogurt as if it holds all the secrets to the universe.

I can feel the sweat from the container making a wet spot on my shirt and the cold temperature raises my nipple to a firm, hard point.

I move the container away from me and turn towards him. I pull my shoulders back so the white cotton of my blouse with the wet circle over my raised nipple is pulled tight. "This says it is Greek strained yogurt." Not looking at the yogurt but rather at the spot on my shirt I say, "Is that what you were wanting?"

He doesn't even try to hold back his groan. He moves quickly across the aisle, takes the large container of yogurt and tosses it into the cart. Shaking his head but a grin across his face he scoops up a bunch of yogurt and throws them into the cart with the other. "We need to go home NOW." Laughing, I grab another boysenberry before he begins ushering me towards the checkout stand and the door.

We pass a middle aged man who is staring at us, his mouth wide open. I reach in the cart and grab the large container of boysenberry. Handing it to him as we pass him I say, "Yogurt is great for losing weight. I've lost so much my clothes are practically falling off me."

Who knew I had an inner exhibitionist? I certainly didn't but, apparently, this wonderful man who is trying to rush me home did. When we get home I intend to thank him well and good for introducing me to her.


End file.
